Thinking
by Evildevilangel
Summary: Everyone assumes Bobby thinks all the time. He doesn't. Cute little John/Bobby oneshot.


Don't own them, otherwise things would be much more interesting…

Bobby Drake was not inclined to contemplation and couldn't understand why everyone seemed to think he was. Maybe it was the untouchable girlfriend or the good grades or the deep soulful eyes (okay, Rogue'd told him that one, but she would know). Whatever it was, it seemed to make everyone think that he spent all his waking hours just sitting there _thinking_. As if he didn't log twenty or thirty hour in the danger room each week, as if he didn't help Scott work on the bikes on the weekend, as if he didn't have math homework. There was only person who didn't see Bobby like that.

"Don't think very much, do you?" John smirked up at him as Rogue tore down the hallway.

"Do you mind?" Somehow, not being thoughtful meant Bobby could also be shorter with his roommate than he was with anyone else at the mansion.

"Yeah," John picked up his zippo from the side of the bed and flicked it open, looking into the flame.

Bobby tried to process what exactly he was agreeing to. "Yeah what?"

The pyromaniac rolled his eyes. "Yeah I mind." He paused before elaborating. "Your inability to think first. Or maybe think at all. It's annoying. You know she's skittish and now you're going to go around feeling guilty and moping while you fiddle with things and maybe work on your goofy ice flowers until some little girl comes in here and tells you what to do." John put the light back down and picked up his old paperback copy of _Othello_. "And something's gonna fly into your mouth if you keep it open like that."

_That might not be so bad_. Bobby closed his mouth and tried desperately to think of something intelligent to say. "That was… accurate."

"I live in the same room as you." John didn't even bother looking up from the play. "Thought I don't notice just 'cause I don't make you quit it?"

"Why don't you?" After receiving no response, he sat on John's bed and pulled the book down, a habit Bobby himself used to find extremely annoying. "I would try to stop. This is your room too."

John's eyes locked onto the other boy's in the way that unnerved everyone. Something about the way they were always so clear, so honest, so _right there and looking at you_. "You really want me to psychoanalyze you? Think we got headjobs that do that for you."

"Tell me."

John closed his eyes. "Fine. I don't want your head to explode."

"_What_?" Bobby was pretty sure being made of ice didn't imply self-destruction.

"_Metaphorically_. You need to move. If I made you stop that ritual, you'd just do something else. Giant ice sculptures on the lawn or something. So you might as well stay here and open and close all your desk drawers and leave puddles on the floor. Can I go back to my _homework_ now?"

"Um." The older boy knew his friend was right, even if he wasn't sure how he'd come to the knowledge. "Got any ideas on how I can make it better?" At least John was unfailingly honest. That had to count for something, somewhere.

"You could stop trying to kiss de girl."

Bobby wondered briefly where John had ever had the opportunity to see _The Little Mermaid_, but moved on quickly. "That doesn't fix things with Rogue _now_."

"You want to fix things with her?" John cocked his head to the side, making sure the other boy knew it wasn't a rhetorical question.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?" Bobby wasn't sure he wanted this conversation to keep going. There was no good end.

"Beyond the fact you spend most of your time trying to make things up to her? And the rest of your time with her not doing anything? And that you're totally into your roommate?" John shrugged.

Bobby felt his jaw drop again. "I… I mean… Um… I'm not-"

"You are, actually," the pyromaniac leaned in, raising one hand so it rested on the back of Bobby's neck, "you're a noisy dreamer."

"I… You don't… I…" John was _really close_. And Bobby did sort of want, _really want_, to close the gap and maybe even let his tongue wander. And then John would tell him the uncensored truth – that he kissed badly, that he wasn't his type, that he wasn't looking for that from him. And Bobby would never be able to look at him again.

"Think about it sometime, yeah?" John pulled on the other boy's neck, sending Bobby sprawling onto the bed while propelling John off it. He loped to the other side of the room, letting his hand rest of the doorknob. "I can't wait around forever." Then he opened the door and stalked out.

Bobby realized he didn't know where John would go.


End file.
